2012-09-19 To The Other Side
Returning Peter's shirts and seeing him again in a less confrontational situation actually helped Illyana's mood. Some. She still had her demonic side angry at the fact she'd just let him go unscathed. But it brought a some kind of closure to things. Which means that moping about her room or her castle didn't appeal quite so much. So she did what she used to do when feeling bored before the whole thing with Peter happened. She dropped in on someone. It's like her hobby. Too bad other people can't normally appreciate it. A circle of light opens in Sam's room, the blonde sorceress appearing and looking around with some interest at his room and she tries to remember his old room, when she was a child, to match up the changes. Sam's room hasn't changed much at all. It's still painfully neat and very much Sam. The man himself is at his desk. He probably should be working, he obviously was, but he's passed out cold at his desk. Sound asleep in his pile of books. There's a cold cup of coffee and an empty pot on a warmer on the bookshelf--it doesn't seem to have helped. Illyana turns around in a slow spin, heel-to-toe as she moves towards Sam, smirking as she sees the sleeping giant. She comes up behind him and leans over, draping her arms along the back of his shoulders and blowing lightly at his ear. Sam nearly goes through the far wall. Half-asleep as he is, his instincts still kick in at the last minute and he bounces off instead to land on his feet in the pillows at the head of his bed. "What the -fuck-?!" Then, Sam sees who it is and rubs a hand over his face. "Sorry, I'm real sorry, Snowflake. You just..." He looks around the room as though he's not sure how he got here, but he does pull himself together enough to step down off the bed. It's usually near-impossible to sneak up on him or get him to jump him at all. "...you just startled me." Illyana straightens as Sam jerks awake, hooking her thumbs in her back pockets. While she hasn't spent a lot of time with Sam since he's been back to know all the nuances of his usual behaviour, she knows he's an X-Man. And X-Men can be jumpy folks. Which.. is why the smirk pulls into a wicked grin. "Shame on you. Lettin' me sneak up on you." She teases. "And such a mouth on you uncle Sammy. What would Ma say?" Yeah, they look right about the same age now. Which makes calling him uncle even more amusing for her. "Oh, she'd probably box my ears." Sam sinks down to sit on the bed, elbows on his knees. "Sorry, Snowflake, I've been real tired lately. Think it might have been from a couple weeks back. Warren healed me up, and I thought I was fine, then I've been under the weather. I'm guessin' I just got back out there too quick after burning out my power. You look a little better, you doing okay?" Illyana frowns over at him now. "You do look awfully tired." She says with a hint of concern. While Illyana cares about those she calls friends and family, it's not always easy to tell. Then her eyes narrow a bit, and her tongue peeks out a moment, flicking against her upper lip as she draws in a breath. Having just come out of Limbo, she was used to having her magical senses pricked. But it should have faded by now. "Has anything else odd happened to you recently?" Is the sky blue? "You know the job." Sam gestures vaguely. "Started feeling lousy when I got my power blown back through me by this guy named Klaw. Broke my arm, serious concussion, scorched skin, lot of minor injuries. Warren healed me up from that. Then not even a week later, ended up against him again, got smacked a bit--nothing much." He rubs the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. "The place where it happened, they were doing a bunch of science experiments on this rift thing that I don't understand but no one else has been sick. It's not radiation from when the lab blew out, I checked." It's Illyana. If she told Sam to stand on his head, he'd do it. Probably badly, but that's what uncles do. "What's up?" Sam plants himself where he's told, hands in his pockets. He's smiling a little, but it's because she's got her Serious Face on, which is the exact same as her Serious Face when she used to try tying her shoes or colouring inside the lines. "You've got... the taste of magic on you. And you shouldn't." She's still got that Serious Face on, answering his questions only absently as she walks a slow circle around him. Those heavy boots she likes to wear strike a steady rhythm, and then she starts to speak. At least... that would be the guess. It doesn't sound like any words that Sam's heard before. Hissing. Sibilant. And then her fingers start to trace lines, dragging streamers of light as they pass by that continue to burn. Silver fire with black edges, and eerie contrast in colors that makes the eyes hurt to stare at them too long. Lines of fire carve themselves into the floor, describing a circle and pentagram around him. The overhead lights go out leaving just the illumination of that fire. Even the sunlight from outside seems muted. In the light of those flames, shadowy forms are revealed. Translucent, insubstantial, like they're not wholly there, amorphous creatures, like small manta rays cling to Sam's tall form. That's just not good. Sam is still steady, though, so long as you don't sneak up on him. Besides, Illyana's talents are actually far more distracting than being fed on by dark creatures. Forces of darkness gnawing his soul? Whatever. Illyana talking magic and doing magic? That's important. Yes, Sam could have read her dossier on file with the X-Men, but he's steadfastly avoided doing so. People far more qualified to judge than Sam know what's in there. If she needs his intervention without asking for it, someone else will let him know. Otherwise, he's not invading her privacy. Period. He waits patiently for her to decide what to do next. This is all out of his hands until he knows more. Illyana catches her lower lip between her teeth as she looks at Sam, or rather the things *on* Sam that the flames revealed. Her eyes are slightly narrowed. Thinking. He's seen a much younger version many times before. Intent. Finally, her blue gaze, glowing slightly in the light of those eldritch flames, move up to meet his. "Well, it's a good thing I decided to come bother you." She says, her tone grimly serious. "At a guess, you've been tired, irritable, maybe even depressed. Stuff you'd normally shrug off or laugh at suddenly *bother* you, right?" She lets out a slow exhale. "Soul leeches. You normally have to go dipping into some pretty nasty spots to pick them up." She doesn't mention that she has a few back in her castle. "Getting them off... they've had time to dig in pretty deep. I can't just kill them." "Yeah, all that. Don't like myself much like this." Sam frowns down at her. He's going to have to work out a way to secure the Den, if these things are around down there. "They're sappin' my power, too, which isn't good. What needs doing?" He's a little too tired to get worked up about the things. It is what it is, it just needs fixing. Illyana has crossed her arms, still with that thoughtful frown though now it's more... sort of resigned. "The safest way to deal with them," She says a bit reluctantly, "Is gonna require some relocation. I'm gonna need a lot more oomph to do Soulwork." There's another soft sigh and with a wave of her hand the intricate silver flames disappear. And with it the ability to see the creatures attached to Sam. She waves her other hand and another disk opens, on-edge like some kind of glowing hobbit-door. "C'mon." She says, stepping through. On the other side is her workroom inside the citadel. The room is large, with an open space in the center that's covered with symbols carved into the stone. Shelves line the walls, holding heavy books and jars and whatnot. Tables hold more with candles and torches providing light. And it doesn't look wholesome. It looks like some artist's rendition of a demon sorcerer's workroom. Because well, that's what it is. There are a few windows that look out over Limbo's blasted landscape and that blood-red sky without sun or moon or stars. More, there's just the sense of evil about the place. Dark. Foreboding. And hungry. Well. Hell. Maybe literally. Sam takes a slow breath as he takes everything in. "This is somethin' else, Snowflake," Sam says quietly. "You ever want to fill me in, I'll listen." He's worried, yes. He doesn't distrust her, he's sure there's an explanation he can live with. He could well be wrong about that, but he's not going to assume anything negative. Not about most people, especially not about his Snowflake. Illyana gives Sam a wan sort of smile. "Oh, yeah. Forgot you haven't really seen this before, huh?" There's some hesitation there. Sam's been a steady supporter of her, a lot like her brother. But knowing things... that might change everything. "I'd like to say later... But I won't go doing this without a bit of explanation." Because she's sure if she told him to go stand in the center of her Circle, he would. No questions asked. And he'd stand there even if she twisted his soul the way Belasco did to Nightcrawler and Cat. "After you left, I got kidnapped to here." She gestures about. "Time runs a bit differently, which is why I'm older than I should be. I got out by beating the sorcerer that took me but the magic I learned to do it isn't the sunshine and rainbow kind." It's a very broad overview of what happened, that's clear. "Those leeches that have dug into your soul, they feed on the purity of it. And you've got a bright and shiny soul, Sammy." She says, trying to bring some levity into the situation along with a small smile. "Since I don't want to rip holes in your soul pulling them out, I'm gonna try to poison them. See, they only eat 'good' souls. Even most 'bad' humans, their souls are a little dirty but that's all. It takes someone truly twisted to have the stain of real evil that can poison these critters." There's a brief pause. "Something I happen to have." "Okay, then." Sam holds out a hand, beckoning Illyana in a hug. That's a lot to take in and there's no making it better. He's wise enough to put the pieces together from what she's said just now, that this has all been uglier than she's going to admit to anyone. "C'mere, before you have to do this." Just in case something doesn't go quite right. There's that moment of hesitation, like it might be a trap. As instinctive a reaction for her as Sam's reflexes are for him. But then she reaches out to put her hand in his and steps in to hug him tightly, her face burried against his chest. She draws in a deep breath, taking in the comforting scent of him. After a long, quiet moment she pulls back enough to go up on her toes and kiss his cheek. "I'm going to, in a *huge* oversimplification, wrap my soul around yours. It'll probably take a few days, but it should drive the leeches out and your soul should 'heal' up fine after that." She can't help but chuckle and shake her head at him, his easy acceptance. "I trust you, Snowflake." Sam kisses Illyana's forehead and gives her a tired smile. Acceptance is easy when you love and trust someone. He's sure things are hard for her but he has faith in her strength. "I'm lucky to have you around. I just wish I could make this easier for you." He gives her another little squeeze before he lets her go. "Okay, you do what you need to do to fix up your poor old Uncle Sam. When I'm feeing better, I'll come make you dinner." Illyana chuckles and gives him a light push towards the center of that circle in the center of her workroom. "Lucky for you, you just need to stand in the middle. It shouldn't do more than itch, just don't mind the lightshow." Illyana herself steps back and summons her Soulsword before she starts to walk around the circle, much as she walked around Sam in his room, and as she does so, the carvings near her start to fill with silver fire. Like water, they flow along those etched lines, making their way towards the center until it's all set alight. As she finishes, Illyana steps into another, smaller circle carved into the floor, and this time the carvings fill from the center out, forming a pentagram around her that she faces the base of. And then she starts to speak, and it's like the whole world hushes to listen. Her words have a cadence, spoken in no human tongue, and Sam can feel the weight of them on his skin. Feel the thrum of them in his bones. A wispy, translucent image forms around Illyana, looking much like her but with some additions. Horns and fangs. A spade-tipped tail and hooved feet. That ghostly image strides forward, leaving Illyana herself behind, glowing all-white eyes fixed on Sam. The 'ghost's steps make no sound. Indeed, its feet don't seem to even touch the ground. She walks through the flames without even glancing at them, and reaches out towards Sam as it reaches the center. This should all be a bit much for a country boy, but Sam's seen all kinds of things by now. It's all strange and it has a kind of beauty to it--in spite of the darkness also lurking there. More than anything, he's proud of her right now, for her composure and her mastery of her craft. If this is what she was made to carry against her will, she's done well with it to still, on any level, be his Snowflake who loves her coffee and ice cream and waffles. Sam studies the ghostly demon that forms, focusing on Illyana's now-familiar features still visible in it. By the time it reaches for him, he sees -her- easily, the strange aspects of it accepted. He knows some people think he's stupid or naive to be accepting, but this isn't a blind choice. He'll take the consequences on himself if he's wrong. This is Illyana, or one part of her, and Sam will take her as she is, as always. He offers her his hand, if she wants it. The ghostly demonic Illyana's hand touches his, and while there's no weight or heat, he can sense it there in the prickle of his skin. The ghost steps in until it stands in the center with him, one of its arms wrapping around his shoulders to draw him down towards her. In the background, he can still hear Illyana's voice, though it sounds odd. Amplified somehow, like it's coming from all directions at once, instead of in front of him. That sword of hers blazes with the same silver fire edged in black that teases the eyes and despite all the candles and torches, the room has gotten darker. The ghost presses its lips to Sam's and then it seems to dissolve around him into wisps of shadow and smoke. His breath catches in a sharp inhale and that smoke and shadow pours into him. It's cold. Numbing. For a moment it feels like he can't breathe only to find that he is. It spreads outward from the center of him until his skin prickles and looking down at his hands he can see hints of a ghostly form overlapping his. It takes a moment to realize that Illyana's stop chanting. His body still hums with the words. Or maybe it's from whatever she's done to him. The silver flames slowly die away, and without their light that ghostly overlay disappears as well. The 'itching' sensation she mentioned is there. But it's not anything he can scratch. It's that sense that something... isn't quite right. Something stuck to him that he can't shake loose. Sword coming down to her side, Illyana walks towards him. "I guess that'll learn me not to interfere with the plans of supervillains," Sam says dryly, going for humour while his brain is still scrambling around with -what just happened!?-. "Itches like I fell in a nettle patch." That was unnerving. Uncomfortable. If he didn't have the experience he did over the last years, it'd have been terrifying. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then offers Illyana his hand again but this time it's for himself as well as for her. Illyana's hand is there for him as he reaches out, her grip firm and sure. The sword disappears to who-knows-where and she watches him with concern. "Yeah, sorry. It uh, chafes this way but I don't want to taint your soul. You shouldn't notice it too much in a little bit. I'd advise against walking into any churches." The tone is light, but her eyes are serious. She really doesn't advise that. "Think of it like... two things pressed against each other, and one of them is kind of prickly. Movement makes them rub. If they'd been like, nailed together, or those prickly edges dug into the other thing, they would move together and wouldn't rub. But I don't want my darkness getting hooks into you." She squeezes his hand again, reassuringly. "You should be fine. But if you start feeling odd, getting weird impulses, let me know right away." "I will. You know I've been after a way to sleep in on Sundays since I was just a little guy, and now I've got it. Thank you for lookin' after me." Sam squeezes her hand in return, then puts two fingers of his free hand under her chin as he looks her in the eye. "Are you okay? That wasn't hard for you, was it?" He hopes she'll tell him the truth if it was hard on her--and knows darn well that he'd probably lie if it were him being asked. There's not a lot of people that Illyana would let touch her like that. Like she's a child that might avoid his gaze. She smirks at him, but that's more because it's the most familiar type of smile for her than any snide or smug feelings. "The magic's the easy part. It wants to be used. And shaping it... Well, it's probably to me like flying is to you." Exhilerating. Breathtaking. "But it's hard to... just do so much." She admits. It would be so much easier, so much more satisfying, to twist his soul. To plant a seed of darkness within him and make it sprout and grow. Shadows flit behind her eyes. Worry. "And... letting you see." She admits. That was probably the hardest part. She could have told him to close his eyes. She knows he would have if she'd asked. "I can imagine that," Sam says quietly, nodding. He brushes his thumb along the line of her jaw as he takes his hand away. His expression is more calm now than set and some of the colour is back in his face now that he's adjusting to everything. "I'm glad you let me see. I want to understand, I want to know. I know I'm kind of slow sometimes, but I do try to pay attention. One thing I can promise, I won't forget how to see my Snowflake no matter what else you show me. You're still my girl when you want to be." Illyana's smirk is a bit more sardonic this time. "I'm not that little girl anymore, you know." It sounds resigned more than anything. "And it's something I can tell you, but I think understanding is a whole other thing." Like when she told Peter what she was, but he didn't really *get* it. Seeing her, and Limbo, he started to. But real understanding? It's something so beyond what Sam or her brother know, they likely can't even concieve a lot of it. "I still try to remember how to be good, though." She can never quite see how much that trying means. "I didn't say you were, 'Yana. I just said I wouldn't forget how to see her. Or how to let you be her if you want to be." Sam squeezes her hand. "I'm not smart but I'm not stupid, either. This place is terrible. And evil. And the things you can do would scare the hell outta me if you were someone else, this place would make me feel sick." Sam looks downright apologetic at the admission. "But it's -you-. So I don't get to be scared or freaked out. Because whatever awfulness you have to deal with I can't help you with any other way, not unless you tell me how. I'm not gonna say I get it when I don't. I -can't- understand it or carry it for you, but I would in a heartbeat if there was a way." Illyana winces, ever so slightly, as he describes Limbo. Because it's still her home, and she knows it's a reflection of her own soul. But it also reminds her that others don't feel as comfortable lingering here as she does. "Well, let's get you out of here for one, huh?" She says with some forced lightness, a stepping disk opening for them to walk back to his room. One of her arms wraps around his waist so she can hug him, but it's more for her own comfort than to reassure him. "I'd understand if you're scared or freaked out, you know. Limbo... is not a pretty place." She chuckles wanly at his offer. "You and Piotr are a lot alike." Both solid, steady, loyal friends. Support she so desperately needs even as she tries to push it away so often. "I love you, you know that, Sam?" It's offered almost teasingly, like it's a joke. But it's also honest. One of those signs she never quite believes, that she's not lost. Sam pulls Illyana close, his arm around her shoulders. "I love you, too, Snowflake. That's not going away." It's that simple, and there's no teasing in his tone. It is what is. "And, yeah, I'd probably be out of sorts if it were someone else taking me to that place, but it's you. So I can deal with it and I'll go back any time you need me there." Sam coughs slightly, clearing his throat. "You really shouldn't compare me to your brother, though. I am not nearly that pretty." Illyana can't help but grin at Sam as he makes the remark about Piotr. "Aw, c'mon. I'm sure if you weren't my uncle I'd be all over you or something." As if she was ever 'all over' anyone. Sam hasn't been around to see her remarkable lack of interest in either sex for well, the usual reasons. Like the idea of being actually interested in them in a manner that most teens are obsessed with never really occurs to her unless pointed out. "That'd be extremely inconvenient," Sam says thoughtfully. He lets her lead the way back to his room while he pictures that. "I'd never get anything done. It was hard enough when you were being a monkey when you were six and now look at how big you are." He cracks a smile and one of his fingers sneaks a little poke at her ribs. "And that's not considering how you have something to say about -everything-, smartypants." Illyana rolls her eyes with a grin as he's literal with the suggestion. "Hey, 'monkey' was a perfectly acceptable and exotic choice for the whole 'when I grow up' bit!" She squirms a bit at the ticklish poke, still smiling. "I'd totally goggle things when you teach classes and correct you, too." Because she's y'know, evil. "And comment on my hair," Sam says mournfully. "Among other things. You'd make me cry by the end of the first day. So it's a good thing for all that I'm your uncle Sam because it's a sad thing to see a grown man cry." The sorrowful look he's giving Illyana doesn't last, he gives in and laughs a little--partly because it's true. She probably could make him cry if she wanted to do it. "But you'd only cry one manly tear at a time, I'm sure." Illyana says, giving Sam a serious nod though those chilly blue eyes glint with amusement like sunlight on ice. "And really, it's not my fault that you seem to think the ceiling fan is a styling tool. Gay men everywhere weep for your lack of style." He's breaking the stereotype, damnit! A bit more seriously, she tells him "You're still likely to be tired for a bit, but you shouldn't be quite as exhausted as you were." Sam looks baffled for a moment. Why would gay men care about his complete lack of style? "Enh, if they want me to look better, they can try and fix it." Still no clue why they would care. "Besides, I don't use the ceiling fan. I use a towel. And a comb, on special occasions." He's only being partly facetious. Sam lets go of Illyana to flop on his bed, patting some space left for her if she wants it. No sense keeping up pretenses in front of her. "Oh, good. Still allowed to be tired. I feel like hammered crap, as Pa used to say." If it were anyone other than Sam or perhaps her brother, that invitation might be suggestive. But it doesn't even occur to Illyana as she climbs onto Sam's bed with him and curls up against him. While she constantly keeps most people at arm's length, there's still that very human part of her that craves the connection that only touch brings. That's probably why Piotr cuddles her so often, even if she's grown. "Gay guys are supposed to be all fashion-conscious." She points out to him. "It's like a defining point or something." She takes another deep breathe as her eyes close. Warm and familiar and Sam. Even if he pricks her magical senses as 'her' as well. "Go to sleep. I promise not to drool on you." "I'm not..." Sam hasn't even considered this properly. Whatever. "I just like people, I don't think much about their outsides." He snugs Illyana against him and closes his eyes. It's nice to admit to being as tired as he is. "I've survived you drooling on me before, Snowflake." He pets her hair once, then lets his hand fall. "But you're a big girl now, I'm sure. Thanks again for looking after me." It's nearly impossible not to fall asleep when he's trying to stay awake. Now that he's not trying, he's out like a light. Category:Logs Category:RPLogs